


sweet dreams till sunbeams find you

by alljustrunaways



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: 5+1, Early Relationship, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Angst, New Parents, basically a lot of reciprocal hurt/comfort bc we love that here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:53:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23307112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alljustrunaways/pseuds/alljustrunaways
Summary: five times jake can't sleep, and one time amy can't.
Relationships: Jake Peralta/Amy Santiago
Comments: 7
Kudos: 133





	sweet dreams till sunbeams find you

**Author's Note:**

> i've had this in the works for a while now and didn't think i would finish it until the semester was over but, alas, i have spent the past two weeks straight in my house and have had nothing but time to write so!! here she is!! hope y'all enjoy 💘  
> title from 'dream a little dream of me' ✨
> 
> warning: brief mentions of sexual assault related to 6x08 'he said, she said', but nothing outside of canon

**i.**

Jake should’ve learned by now, probably, that taking case files home is a bad idea. It’s definitely against the rules and he nearly lost his job because of it in the past, but it’s a tough habit to break for someone who lives and breathes detective work.

His girlfriend - which is still a relatively new term for Amy, one that still feels a little foreign when it rolls off his tongue but mostly just awesome and unbelievable - is less cool with the whole “breaking very important police rules” thing. He really didn’t intend to bring any work over to her place. All he really wants to do is spend time with her, and he knows she would be mad if she knew he was still doing this, so when he shoved a case file in his bag on their way out of the precinct before heading to her apartment for the night he didn’t really intend to look at it.

He doesn’t intend to look at it, but as time drags on and Amy’s fallen asleep next to him, the gears in his mind start whirring with new thoughts and potential leads regarding the homicide case he’s working on with Charles.

Once he realizes that there’s no way he’s going to be able to sleep until he at least _looks_ at the file and tests his theories, he gently lifts the arm she has loosely wrapped around him and slides out of the bed as ninja-like as possible. He heads to her living room with his bag, pulls out the file and gets to work.

He has no idea how much time has passed, but he’s so buried in the case that he doesn’t hear Amy’s footsteps coming from the bedroom. He doesn’t even realize she’s standing right in front of him until she says his name and he nearly falls off the couch in surprise.

“Ames!” He exclaims, regaining his composure and quickly shoving the file behind his back, pretending to casually lean back against the side of the couch.

“Jake, it’s two o’clock in the morning,” she says, blearily rubbing her eyes under her reading glasses. “Why are you still up?”

“Um, just - you know, chilling.”

She rolls her eyes and snatches the file from behind him, opening it and quickly scanning the first page.

“I know I told you I wouldn’t bring home files anymore but I just had a feeling that there was something weird about this case so I brought it home just in case-”

“Did you check the landlord’s alibi?” Amy asks, not looking up from the file and quickly turning to the next page. “It seems like he’s the likeliest suspect, considering the-”

“Missed rent payments, I know. I had a hunch about him, too, but Charles checked this morning - airtight.” He pauses, then looks up at her cautiously. “Wait, are you not mad at me for bringing work home again?”

Amy shrugs, sitting down next to him and passing the file over. “I knew you never stopped. I’ve seen you ‘secretly’ grab files on your way out, like, a dozen times.” He looks at her in shock and she raises an eyebrow. “Hello, _I’m_ the reigning amazing detective slash genius here.”

Jake laughs softly, reaching over to grab her hand and slide their fingers together.

“Sorry I woke you up.”

“Oh, you didn’t,” she responds, squeezing his hand. “I’ve just gotten so used to sleeping with you that the bed felt colder than usual, so I tried to pull more of the blanket up and realized you weren’t there.”

He smiles as he realizes she’s wearing the hoodie he left crumpled on the floor with his jeans when getting changed before bed. He’s still not used to stuff like this. He thought about the big things before they were dating - what it would be like to kiss her, what their first time would be like - but he never thought about the gravity of all the little things: how she wears his sweaters even when the entirety of her own wardrobe is available to her, how her thumb brushes over his when they’re holding hands, how she makes him smile way more than he ever did in his pre-Amy life.

“Well, detective-slash-genius, are you going to help me solve this case or what?”

He half-expects her to say no and go back to bed, but she just tucks her feet up behind her on the couch and shifts closer to him.

They don’t end up solving the case that night - Jake decides it can wait until morning, not because he’s exhausted or because it’s probably the smart thing to do, but because Amy’s starting to drift off on his shoulder and he can’t bear to wake her again.

He carefully shifts their position so she’s fully laying down and he’s right behind her, grabbing a blanket from the back of the couch and pulling it over them. She slides backwards until her back is against his chest, his arm sliding around her and tugging her a little bit closer.

“Goodnight,” she whispers, her voice heavy with sleep.

He kisses her shoulder and lets his eyes close, finally, thoughts of work disappearing from his mind. All his senses know in this moment is _Amy_ and the innate need to keep her warm and protected in his arms.

“Night, Ames.”

**ii.**

Jake’s been home for three days.

Technically he’s only been _home_ home - as in, within the confined and always slightly smelly space of his own apartment - for one day, but Amy’s apartment had less stairs and it also has Amy, who’s practically been his own personal nurse from the moment he was released from the hospital in Florida.

It hasn’t been the easiest few days, full of doctor’s appointments and FBI briefings and the dreaded night shift for Amy and the rest of the squad, but at least he’s been home. He’s finally sleeping in his own bed, with his year-old mattress that hasn’t been slept on in six months and his incredible godsend of a girlfriend lying right next to him.

He’s _trying_ to sleep at least - it’s daytime, for one thing, because Amy’s on the night shift schedule and he figured it’s in his best interest to adhere to this schedule before he has to start work in a couple weeks. (And he wants to maximize his time with her, because there’s so much to make up for.)

Despite the daylight peeking in through the curtains, he truly is exhausted. Unfortunately, the discomfort of his heavily bandaged leg, resting awkwardly on a small stack of pillows, is making it impossible to find a good sleep position. Every time he tries to make a minor adjustment there’s a sharp pain in his thigh that radiates through his entire body.

Around the fourth or fifth attempt to move resulting in a sigh of exasperation, he feels Amy’s cool fingertips curl around his forearm. Her eyelids are just fluttering open, but concern is already etched on her face.

“Are you okay?”

He smiles and nods, but the small grunt as he turns to face her gives him away.

“You’re in pain,” she murmurs, sitting up quickly and shifting closer to him, her hand gently cupping his cheek.

“It’s not _that_ bad,” Jake shrugs, his hand covering hers on his chest. “I just can’t fall asleep, I don’t know why. I had no trouble sleeping at your place.”

“You were on some pretty heavy meds, babe.” She pushes his hair back and kisses his forehead. After consulting the alarm clock on his bedside table, she slips out of bed. “It’s been long enough, you can take some more ibuprofen.”

She disappears and returns moments later with a glass of water and two pills in her palm, which she hands to him as soon as he’s sat up against the headboard. He graciously accepts them and downs the glass of water in one gulp, collapsing back into the pillows as soon as he’s done.

“Those should kick in in a few minutes.”

She sits next to him on his side of the bed and pulls back the covers to take a look at the bandages on his leg, her fingertips ice-cold when they brush against his skin. He reaches to hold her hand on instinct and squeezes gently. Maybe they’re not exactly where they left off yet - six months is a long time apart - but he still does everything he can to warm her up without thinking about it and their fingers still fit together perfectly and that’s more than enough for now.

“We can probably wait till morning - or evening, I guess - to change the bandages again,” she says, pulling the blanket back over him. He sighs at the thought of it - it’s a grueling process every time, and even though Amy’s very careful it still hurts like hell. “I know, babe, I’m sorry.”

Jake shakes his head quickly, his hand moving up her arm to cup her cheek. “Not your fault.”

She smiles unconvincingly and won’t look him in the eye, which he knows is her residual guilt for shooting him despite it being the only option and a _literal_ lifesaver.

“Hey, Ames.” He brushes his thumb over her cheek. “Really not your fault. Seriously, bullet wound be damned, this is the happiest I’ve been in six months. And you’ve been working so hard taking care of me even though you’re exhausted from the night shift and-” He pauses and leans in to touch his forehead to hers, lightly brushing their noses against each other. “I just still can’t believe I’m really in my apartment in New York with _you_.”

She kisses him, then, and her fingers tangle in his too-long, too-blonde hair and her tongue is in his mouth and it’s perfect. It’s so perfect that he can’t feel any pain, he feels like he’s on the really good drugs from the hospital again. This is what being madly in love feels like, which he supposes he was before he left, but if absence makes the heart grow fonder then he must love her infinitely more for all the time they spent apart. He realizes he hasn’t told her this in at least an hour or two, so he breaks the kiss and admires her in all her post-makeout, eyes-still-closed-and-lips-still-swollen glory for a moment before breaking the silence.

“I love you so much.”

She smiles and kisses his palm, still firmly planted on her cheek. Quietly, like she’s almost on the verge of tears, she says, “I love you so much too.”

They just look at each other for a few seconds, Jake taking in every inch of her face, free of makeup and perfectly moisturized for bed; the Knicks t-shirt he’s had since college that’s baggy on her which she pulled out of the second drawer from the top of his dresser before they went to bed like it was second nature; her wavy black hair that falls over her shoulders like a Pantene commercial when she just took it out of the bun it had been in for ten hours.

“I’ll get you another pillow to elevate your leg and an ice pack, okay?” She kisses his cheek and springs up to her feet, back in thirty seconds and helping him get situated in a somewhat comfortable position. “How’s that?”

He sighs with contentment, sinking into the pillows. “Perfect, babe.”

Amy climbs back into her side of the bed and flicks the light off again, curling into his side and placing her head next to his. He slides his arm around her back to pull her close enough that they can listen to each other breathe in perfect synchronization.

“When do you have to get up?” he asks, barely above a whisper.

“Seven, I have to be at the precinct by nine. I’ll probably go down to the deli to get dinner, so I’ll get you something and leave it in the fridge for when you wake up.”

He shakes his head. “No, wake me up, I wanna have weird breakfast-dinner with you.”

“Jake, you really need to rest-“

“I can sleep while you’re at work. Please?”

She hesitates, and then nods against his shoulder. “Okay. Now try to sleep, babe.”

He’s out within minutes, surprisingly, and although he wakes up four hours later in a lot of pain and very tired, he also wakes up to Amy peppering his face with kisses and holding a bag that smells like roast beef and matzo ball soup, so life could be a lot worse.

**iii.**

Doing chores in the middle of the night is surprisingly therapeutic, Jake finds.

He never really did much cleaning because A) Amy always beats him to it and B) when he does try to pitch in, she just ends up cleaning again to her level of satisfaction. There’s something calming about washing dishes, scrubbing countertops and sweeping crumbs off the floor with almost no background noise except the sounds of some traffic outside - it’s the city that never sleeps, but it is much quieter at three in the morning.

The most important thing is to keep moving, to stay busy and focused and not let his mind wander to the cold, dark prison cell where he spent the last eight weeks.

If he could, he would be in bed with Amy holding her close like he swore to himself (and to her a few times, in hushed tones over the phone) that he would every night for the rest of time the moment he got home. He wants to be, but after waking from his third nightmare of the week, roughly as many as the two other weeks he’s been home, Jake can’t bear to close his eyes again tonight.

It’s usually the same sort of scenarios in which Romero is threatening his life or Hawkins is laughing in his face saying he’ll never beat her or, in the most metaphorical one yet, he’s trapped in a room with walls literally closing in on him.

(The worst by far was last week, when he dreamt that Hawkins had somehow escaped and had gotten hold of Amy. It was the only time he woke her up after a bad dream, mostly because he needed to look at her and hear her voice and partly because he really just needed her to hold him for a while.)

He’s got the day off tomorrow, and Amy doesn’t, so he figures he’ll sleep then and not have to worry about waking her up if he sits up abruptly in a cold sweat or mutters words of fear in his sleep. For now, he cleans.

It’s a good plan until he drops the pan he was holding, the handle slick with dish soap, and it makes a loud clang as it falls in the sink. He mutters a profanity and prays that it didn’t wake her, but he hears her calling out for him within seconds.

“Jake? Babe, are you okay?”

“I’m fine-” he begins, but the bedroom door is already opening and Amy’s running out to make sure he’s alright. “Just dropped a pan.”

She frowns and walks closer to him so she can make out the time on the stove clock.

“Why the hell are you doing the dishes in the middle of the night?”

“Because they’re dirty.”

She looks at him with a blend of confusion and disbelief, which he supposes is fair given his track record.

“Fine, I couldn’t sleep again so I figured I’d make myself useful instead of watching _Die Hard_ for the fourth time this week.”

Her expression softens and she walks around the counter to meet him, reaching for a dish towel and drying off his hands before taking them in her own. It’s a gesture so sweet that it nearly brings him to tears, much like the sticky note she put on the coffee she bought him this morning ( _you’re doing great! I love you so much!_ ) or how she gave him her juiciest case that they both knew he would be able to solve earlier in the week because he needed a win.

“You wanna go back to bed?” she asks him, without pressure or insistence. It’s merely an offer, but she’s careful to make sure he knows he doesn’t have to. “Or we could watch a show?”

“Not really,” he replies honestly, holding her hands a little tighter. “Is it okay if we just sit here for a little bit?”

Amy squeezes his bicep and nods, smiling warmly. “Of course, babe. On one condition.”

She opens the freezer and pulls out a fresh tub of Ben and Jerry’s - chocolate chip cookie dough, duh - and two spoons from the drawer.

“I love how you think, Santiago,” he grins, sliding to the floor with his back against the kitchen cabinets, Amy settling in right next to him with her legs folded over his and the ice cream resting on her lap.

They sit in comfortable silence for a little while, chatting intermittently about their days. Eventually, Amy sets the half-finished tub of ice cream down next to them and reaches across him to toss the spoons in the sink above him.

She takes his hand where it rests over her thigh, bringing it to her lips and laying a soft kiss to his knuckles.

“Was it another nightmare?” she asks quietly so as not to disturb the peaceful quiet that’s enveloped them.

He nods, resting his head against the hard surface behind him. “Yeah. Bad one.”

“Okay,” she whispers, fingers flexing around his hand. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

Her warm brown eyes are shining with unadulterated care and affection. He’s never trusted anyone more - to guard his secrets and to provide him with unconditional support and to _stay._ The only barrier preventing him from pouring his heart out to her is his fear of worrying her, but he knows she’s strong and she deserves the truth.

“It was pretty straightforward, I guess,” he shrugs. “I was back in there and the warden said you guys caught Hawkins and I was so excited but then every time I tried to walk out the doors to the parking lot I just ended up back in my cell and I couldn’t get out-”

He realizes his heart is beating pretty quickly, so he stops there, trusting she got the gist of it. Amy’s eyes are wide and teary when he finally looks her in the eye, but she wipes the tears away with her sleeve and pulls him into her arms.

“I’m so sorry, Jake,” she whispers into his hair, her hands sweeping over his arms and back. “I wish there was something I could do.”

“Babe, you’ve done so much. I would’ve lost my mind in there without you. Being able to hear your voice and think about how you were waiting for me at home got me through it.” He pulls away a little bit to properly look at her. “For realz, best girlfriend in the world. At _least_ the tri-state area.”

She laughs, softly nudging him in the ribs before resting her head on his shoulder.

“I really just hate that this happened to you. And Rosa. And all of us, really, because the last two months were hell.” She kisses his jaw. “I still can’t believe you’re home.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

They hold each other for a little while longer in the quiet glow of the streetlights outside their window. Amy tells him about a Ted Talk she found on insomnia as a result of PTSD, and he promises to watch it with her tomorrow. She brings up the upcoming Halloween Heist, and he has to hide his smug grin by burying his face in her hair.

Eventually, he’s laying with his head on her lap while she runs her fingers through his hair, slowly but surely coaxing him to sleep.

“You should go t’ bed, you gotta work in a few hours,” he murmurs sleepily as he’s moments from drifting off.

“I’m gonna take a sick day so I can stay home with you.”

“M’okay babe, you don’t have to.”

“I want to,” she protests. “Honestly, we have a _lot_ of Property Brothers to catch up on and Charles already offered to do my paperwork so you and I can have more alone time, which is kinda gross but well-intentioned.”

Jake smiles and presses a small kiss to her thigh. If there’s one thing he needs right now, it’s a day of snuggling on the couch with his girlfriend and, if all goes to plan, future wife. “Sounds great. Love you.”

“I love you more than anything in the world, Jake Peralta,” she says earnestly, bending down to kiss his forehead goodnight.

It’s the last thing he hears before drifting off into a peaceful sleep, feeling safe and warm and loved.

**iv.**

Charles’ guest room is comfortable and quiet. There’s no reason Jake shouldn’t be able to drift off peacefully, musing about how he’ll be married to the woman of his dreams within twenty-four hours.

It’s after midnight, and even though he’s under strict orders from Amy (and Charles) to get a full eight hours before the big day, it’s harder to sleep without Amy than he thought. God knows he’s done it before - with varying degrees of success, in Florida and in prison and in that damn safe house with Kevin - but he still hates it. Especially now, when it’s being enforced only by some dumb, ancient superstitions about seeing the bride before the wedding.

He’s a grown man, he should be able to cuddle with his fiancée if he wants to.

He’s pretty sure there’s no rule about talking to her in the wedding superstition handbook, though. Even if there is, he really couldn’t care less right now, so he grabs his phone and clicks on her name in his recent calls.

“Jake? You okay?”

She answers right away and doesn’t sound too groggy, so he’s relieved that he probably didn’t wake her, but there is concern laced in her voice.

“Hey, yeah, I’m fine.” He keeps his volume low as to not wake Charles or his family. “I just wanted to hear your voice for a few minutes before bed.”

He can hear a faint sigh of relief, and he realizes that he probably hasn’t called her in the middle of the night since he was in prison and scared for his life, when her voice was the only thing that could tether him to reality. Those nights are behind them, thankfully, but not far enough behind that the memories don’t sting a bit whenever they resurface.

“You’re not getting cold feet on me, are you Peralta?” she teases, her lighthearted tone making him loosen up a little bit.

“No, I’m actually not nervous at all,” he replies without missing a beat. Surprisingly, it’s true - he expected to feel at least a little bit nervous the night before his wedding, but he really doesn’t. If anything, he feels calmer than he’s ever been. “Is that weird?”

“No, I’m not either,” she laughs. “I mean, I’m nervous about the logistics of the wedding itself, but I’m so sure about _you_ that I just - I don’t know, I’m not that worried.”

Jake smiles, reclining into the pillows. “Same here.”

He supposes that’s all there is to it - there’s nothing to be worried about when everything in his life has aligned so _perfectly._ He’s got his dream job, his dream girl who he had never dreamt of even scoring a date with, let alone a lifetime. Things are beyond good.

“Are you excited?”

“To be married to you?” He raises an eyebrow. “Ames, I would’ve married you a _long_ time ago if it wasn’t for the whole prison thing and then the whole having to plan a wedding thing.”

He can almost hear her smile crackling through the speaker. “I meant for the wedding. The _Die Hard_ cake, the reception, our first dance…”

“It’s gonna be amazing, Ames. I mean, my relatives might yell at me periodically for not having a rabbi and Charles’ best man speech is probably gonna be like two hours long, but still.”

“And tomorrow night,” she says seductively, “it’ll just be you and me at the nicest hotel in Staten Island.”

The “nicest hotel in Staten Island” isn’t saying much, but they both knew they wouldn’t want to wait in traffic for an hour at the end of the night just to get back to their apartment or some swanky Manhattan hotel that neither of them will really care about in the moment anyways. He wants her as _soon as possible_ , because as much as he’s looking forward to seeing her in her white dress, he’s just as excited to take her out of it. Moreover, he’s excited to just be alone with her after the inevitable craziness tomorrow will bring.

“You somehow make Staten Island sound sexy,” he swoons. “I’m the luckiest man on earth.”

Amy laughs - a beautiful, melodic laugh, the kind that makes him feel warm inside and that he will go to great lengths to hear every day for the rest of his life.

And the rest of his life starts _tomorrow_.

“We should get some sleep, we gotta look pretty for the cameras tomorrow.”

“I’m always pretty, babe,” he scoffs.

“I agree, but we’re paying a fortune for this photographer so eye-bags are _not_ permitted.”

“10-4, Sergeant.”

Jake climbs under the covers, flicking off the lamp next to his bed.

“Okay, I’ll see you soon,” Amy says fondly. “I love you, almost-husband.”

“I love you, almost-wife.”

The line goes dead and though he immediately misses the steady cadence of her voice in his ear, the sooner he gets to sleep the sooner he gets to wake up and marry the heck out of her.

He closes his eyes and sleeps with a smile on his face for eight hours straight until he wakes to Charles barging in with a tray full of “wedding crepes”.

**v.**

Over his years as a cop, Jake’s worked a lot of tough cases and had to face victims of horrible tragedies and criminals capable of unspeakable things. He’s had nights without sleep and weeks with no leads, but never has he felt quite so defeated as he did watching his wife try to solve an impossible sexual assault case.

He’s dealt with sexual assault cases and felt that pit in his stomach when interviewing the victims before, and it’s always been difficult. Knowing Amy went through something like that at one point, though, is a much harder pill for him to swallow.

He knows about the deep-rooted misogyny in the NYPD, of course, so he’s not really sure why he’s so shocked. Maybe he had just hoped and prayed that his wife was somehow immune to disgusting men like Seth and Beefer and her stupid, _awful_ former captain.

Even though they came to some sort of resolution in the case and helped make some positive change, there’s been a definite shift in his perspective. The fact that not only Amy but all of the women in his life and all women _everywhere_ have to go through so much more than he ever realized on a daily basis makes him feel sick.

He’s not really sure what or if he can even do anything about this, but he’s at least going to do everything he possibly can to stay informed from now on.

This is how he finds himself reading article after article about institutionalized sexism, his face illuminated by the light of his phone screen well past midnight. He’s not aware of the time, simply absorbing more and more information until his brain feels like it’s going to explode.

“Jake?”

Amy’s voice pierces the silence and he drops his phone on his lap in surprise.

“What are you still doing up?” She sits up and flicks on her lamp, rubbing her sleep-filled eyes. “It’s late.”

Jake sighs and passes her his phone, waiting for her to quickly scan the text and deduce what he’s been up to.

After a moment, she locks his phone, places it on the table and turns to face him, grabbing his arm.

“Babe, I love you,” she says, gently squeezing his forearm, “but we’re not going to solve sexism tonight.”

“Not with that attitude, we’re not.”

She rolls her eyes and gently shoves his shoulder so he lays down, and she lays her head on his chest. Some of the tension in his body fades as his arms encircle her and pull her closer to him.

“I’m just so sorry that you have to deal with this,” he sighs. “ I mean, I guess I knew on some level that every woman does but I guess I always hoped you were somehow the exception cause I can’t _stand_ the thought of you having to deal with this shit.”

“I know,” she murmurs, squeezing his chest.

“And the fact that so many people go through that and worse on a regular basis just...really sucks.”

“It really does,” she agrees. “But on the bright side, we got a win today. And even though a lot of guys suck, I managed to marry one of the good ones.”

She kisses his chest and he tightens his grip on her just a little bit more. He wishes he could shield her from the rest of the world forever and keep her away from every gross sleazeball out there; he wishes they could stay in the sanctuary of their bed for the rest of time.

“Seriously, thank you for being so amazing the past few days.”

“I did nothing, Ames,” he says, shaking his head. “ _You’re_ amazing. You used your position to make positive change. That’s a big deal.”

She pauses, then smiles into his t-shirt. “Yeah, I guess it was.”

She reaches over to turn the light off again and curls back into him, pulling the covers up to their shoulders to stay warm.

“Goodnight,” he whispers into her hair.

Maybe in the morning he’ll have more questions for her or they’ll watch another documentary on feminism, but right now he knows that she needs rest. Truthfully, so does he.

Amy buries her face into his neck and adjusts her grip on the comforter, sighing contently.

“Night, babe.”

**\+ i**

The craziest forty-eight hours of Jake’s life end in a very mundane series of tasks - dishes, laundry, tidying the living room.

The place was a mess when they got home, which makes sense given the panicked flurry that they left in two days ago, hurriedly packing a bag of essentials for the hospital. Their little girl was just over two weeks early, and despite all the planning and preparation they had done for her arrival, they had _not_ planned for that.

He’s exhausted from very few hours of sleep curled up next to Amy in the cramped hospital bed, but he knows it must be only a fraction of the fatigue she’s feeling after bringing their child into this world just yesterday, so he made sure she got into bed right after they got Zoey tucked into her bassinet and assured her he would join her soon.

He’s mostly finished his attempt at making their apartment somewhat inhabitable again when he decides to throw in the towel and finish in the morning. He can’t resist the urge to get back to his wife and baby in the next room over, missing them both already.

He expects Amy to already be passed out by the time he enters their room, but instead she’s up and awake, hovering over the bassinet a few feet from their bed. She’s still wearing his baggy hoodie with holes in it from college (again, they packed _very_ quickly) and her hair is still pulled back in a messy ponytail. She’s still got the post-childbirth glow his mom commented on this morning, with her rosy cheeks and her dewy skin. She’s _beautiful_ , but he’s already told her that half a dozen times today.

“Why are you still awake?” he asks quietly, making sure he doesn’t wake the baby. “You literally spent twenty hours in labour yesterday, babe.”

“Did I? That slipped my mind,” Amy deadpans, motioning for him to come over.

He complies, standing next to her and looking down on their baby, peacefully sleeping in her little cream-coloured bassinet that Amy ordered months ago. Zoey Peralta is absolutely perfect in every way conceivable, from her soft and unruly brown hair - which she totally got from him - to her perfect, round little nose that looks exactly like Amy’s. He feels comforted knowing that if she inherited her mother’s brains, her tenacity, or even a fraction of her kindness and warmth, this kid is going to be just fine.

“She’s just so perfect,” Amy muses, leaning back against his chest and resting her head against his chin. “I can’t stop looking at her yet.”

Jake wraps his arms around her and nods, intently watching Zoey make little noises in her sleep. “She’s totally perfect.”

“Can you believe we made her?”

He shakes his head. “Can you believe we’re _parents_?”

Amy sighs happily and runs her hand up his arm, gently squeezing his bicep.

“I was so scared for a while that we would never get this moment,” she admits.

“I know.”

He squeezes her a little tighter, remembering all the negative pregnancy tests and early mornings waking up to UD and the goddamn _vitamins_. It had been hard, sometimes unbearably so, but the moment she showed him the positive test it all became so incredibly worth it.

And the moment, mere hours ago, when their baby was no longer an image on a sonogram but a living, breathing child that he could hold in his arms, he knew he would do it all a billion times over for her.

“We should probably get some sleep, I’m sure she’ll wake us up in a few hours,” Jake suggests after a few more minutes have passed, just the three of them in blissful silence.

Amy nods in agreement and leans down to press a feather-light kiss to Zoey’s forehead.

“Goodnight, angel. Mommy and Daddy love you _so_ much.”

Amy’s gentle voice as she talks to their baby nearly brings him to tears, not for the first (or even tenth) time that day.

“Goodnight, Zo,” Jake repeats, “sweet dreams.”

Jake climbs into bed behind Amy, who is still affectionately watching their daughter sleep a few feet away, and wraps his arm around her waist.

“I love you so much,” he murmurs against her temple. “You’re gonna be the best mom.”

She grabs his hand and pulls it tighter around her, her eyes already fluttering shut.

“I love you so much.”

He reaches over her to turn the light off, and he can hear her breathing even out within seconds. He’s not far behind her, falling asleep with a smile on his face, already excited for all that the morning will bring.


End file.
